A Love That Dare Not Speak its Name
by Snowfilly
Summary: ...He stood at his lover's grave, touched by a love so great that neither life could deney it, nor death defeat it...' Aragorn loves a Ranger, but loves always goes with death. ON HOLD.
1. Default Chapter

A Love That Dare Not Speak its Name

Disclaimer - All characters in this story belong to Tolkien. The song belongs to The Faces. Some lines come from Son of The Whirlwind, by Elyane Mitchell, which is the story of a mare's love for a dead stallion, and his son.

A/N - The purpose of this is to tell a slash story, in Middle Earth that really could have happened, going on what we know of the book characters. I do not share the homophobic views that some of the characters later express, so I do not want flames for that or the slash. If you don't like slash then don't read it. This is set maybe 40 years before the book, and should end up around 6-7 chapters. Content warning for slash and angst in later chapters.

__

So who I am to judge you,

On what you say and do?

Who am I to tell you,

That what you feel is wrong?

For the First Time ~~The Faces

Aragorn touched his heels to his horse's flanks, then glanced across at Halbarad who was riding alongside him. The other Ranger's face was preoccupied, his mahogany eyes glazed as though he was riding in some dream of fair lands and good times, and for a moment as raven dark hair blew back from his head, the sun turned him and his bay horse to molten gold. Aragorn watched him, unable to take his eyes off the man who he realised for the first time, moved with an Elvish grace and elegance that awed him. Then he realised that Halbarad was staring at him, and he blushed, grinning.

'Sorry.'

__

'Are we going to head for the Prancing Pony tonight, or are we going to camp along the way?' Halbarad, although slightly the younger of the pair deferred to Aragorn most of the time, trusting the others skill. 

__

Still slightly bemused, Aragorn nodded. 'Stay by the road tonight. The weather looks like it should be fine for several days and there is no need to hurry.' _And maybe I should not spend the night alone with you, Halbarad. _'We should be able to cross the Brandywine by nightfall, even if we walk the horses. That means we could spend three days or so in Bree, and rest for a while.'

'Sounds reasonable, for one of your ideas, Chieftain.' Halbarad grinned, and brushed a stray strand of ebony hair back from his face. 

They rode on in silence, quite different from their usual casual bantering. Halbarad felt ill at ease, hearing Aragorn sigh and seeing the peculiar light in his eyes. But it was a peaceful ride, the Shire golden and brown under the autumn sunlight and as neither could forget the terrible events of the last Mordor watch, this was a pleasant change. It was Aragorn who called a halt to the day's slow ride, on the far bank of the river.

Later, at sunset, Aragorn stood looking over the river that run blood red as the sun struck it. He could see the houses of the Little People as Gandalf called them, and he half smiled. _I wonder if they have such cares and worries as those that lay upon me. Are they aware of how great a sacrifice love can be to one who loves two? If only I could believe that it was only idle fancy, born of loneliness._

He sighed, and smoked in silence. The smoke twisted in the wind, hiding his face from Halbarad who was watching him from afar. Loneliness touched him, striking him an almost physical blow. It was not loneliness for simple companionship or talk, for indeed Rangers where seldom alone but rather that for touch and love. Mentally he counted the years since he had last seen Arwen, held her, kissed her. Five. Five long years of wandering the wild, the only contact to be had that with swords and arrows against Orc flesh, and a fortnight ago in Mordor, cradling the dying Ranger in his arms. 

He jumped violently when Halbarad came up to him, moving on silent feet but made no sound of protest when Halbarad put his arm around his shoulders in a gesture of friendship as old as time. Indeed, his body thrilled to that touch and he moved closer to the other Ranger. _If only I could tell him what I feel._ And as if for the first time, he looked at Halbarad's face, stared into his eyes.

__

'Is anything wrong, Aragorn?'

'I am so alone, even in this land which we have guarded for years, Halbarad. This land is to be my kingdom some day, yet I camp on the banks of the river, lonely and cold. I know no one here save you and old Butterbur.' His voice was low, husky from emotion and tiredness. _And also the sense of his presence, the sound of his voice, the touch of his hand so Valar help me._

'Nay, Aragorn, you are not alone. With you go all the hopes of Numenor and Gondor and even Rohan and the Shire. Do you not think that Arathorn watched his son as he walks under the sun, on his way to reclaim Elendil's crown? Do you believe that Elrond, who loves you as his own son would allow you to fade from his thought because you are far away? And Arwen waits for you to come walking through the woods of Lorien.'

How_ can I tell him that my heart has found a new love; found it in the terror of the fires of Mordor when he stood by my side and held me when I was hurt? _Aragorn sighed again, a desperate yearning in his eyes. 'What good are memories and thoughts, hopes and dreams, Halbarad? I am not an Elf; I do not walk in their dreamland. _And why should I when he is fairer than anything in a dream and yet is here, with me, standing with me, his hand on my arm?_

'They are all that you get at the moment, Aragorn, so make the most of them. And if I were you, I would rest now, for we should leave early tomorrow. We do not need a watch tonight.'

Aragorn nodded and walked over to the fire, searching in his pack for the blankets. _Better than this would be to be near him, just for warmth, just to see his face, just to... Somehow, tomorrow, I must tell him of this._ Then, because he was tired, he feel asleep quickly, dreaming at first of Arwen until the vision changed to Halbarad, remembering the feel of the Ranger's hand as they had stood together in the sunlight, the sound of his voice. His last thought before he fell into deep sleep was _I wonder what Gandalf would say if I told him about this?_

Please review, this is my first attempt at anything like this, and I want to know whether it's worth continuing. 


	2. Nightmares

The three Rangers rode at a canter through a blackened, wasted landscape. Their tired, sweat streaked horses stumbled on the muddy ground, and icy rain driven by evil lashed at them. In the distance, they could hear the sullen rumbling of Mount Doom. Nearer to them rung the battle cries of Orcs, and the howling, mixed with the wind, of a Warg. Steel rung on steel as the three drew their swords, holding their horses in as they rounded water darkened cliffs. The whistle of an arrow in flight and the brutish calls of the Orcs made the animals tremble and it was with difficulty that they persuaded them to canter on. 

Halbarad, youngest of the three, handsome rather than fair and yet mounted on a graceful mare who danced under the bulk of her rider, led. Behind him was Aragorn, his distant kinsman, grim faced with haunted eyes, astride a dark bay charger from Rohan, and alongside him, the Captain, whose face seemed ever young, alight with good humour and love for all things that flew, or trod the Earth and the Men who served under him. Melarod was his name and he rode an Elven horse whose chestnut coat blazed with the light of Elbereth's stars. 

Aragorn shook his head and rode hard into the Orcs. There was a dozen or so, and despite frozen hands and hunger, he lifted his sword and lunged at them. The horse of Rohan, knowing his job, carried his rider in and out without command, reminding Aragorn of the legend of Orome and his white horse, Nahar, who had been shod with gold. Beside him, so close that their legs brushed in the combat, was Halbarad, and he could smell the rank stink of the other man's sweat his fear and worry. A scream pierced through the noise of battle, above the noise of swords, the anxious whinny of Halbarad's mare, and the groans of the dying Orcs. And even as Halbarad shifted his weight and rode at the last Orcs, Aragorn swung his bay around and rode over to his Captain.

The Ranger lay on the bank of a foul stream that run black in the midday sun, his horse struggling to rise from the mud on three legs. The harsh breathing of man and beast mingled as Aragorn dismounted and run to Melarod. _How often this man has saved me - my Captain, my teacher, the one who guided me through the wilderness, my friend. Do not go from me now, Captain, leave me leaderless in Mordor. Do not leave me here alone._

Hopelessly, he slipped one arm around the dying man's shoulders, watched as the blue eyes looked back at him and the spirit, the courage, the life in them seeped away through the blood that stained Aragorn's hands. 'You cannot leave me here, Captain. Please...' He felt the body go limp, heard the last breath seep out and the last vestige of awareness leave the piercing blue eyes. 'Captain....' Aragorn cried out, holding the body of the other man close to him in helpless grief, and watched as Halbarad calmly put Melarod's chestnut out of its misery and walked over to him - this man of almost his own age, this man with dark eyes and a dark face and a strange feeling stirred in his racing heart. 

'Wake up, Aragorn. Come on.'

__

What? Who is that? 

'Aragorn, wake up.' 

He stirred and looked up, seeing a faint outline against a velvety night sky dusted with stars and his memory flooded back along with awareness. He was lying on muddy ground - the banks of the Brandywine River - and the fires in his dream had been their campfire. Halbarad was still resting his hand on Aragorn's shoulder. _I wish you would wake me more often, Halbarad. It is worth rising before dawn to feel your touch, to hear your voice. Have you any idea how beautiful you are in the starlight? And what would you say to me if I told you what I feel for you?_

'It sounded like you were having a nightmare, Aragorn. You woke me, and I thought I should wake you. It is still early - we can rest for another few hours if you wish.'

I_ do not wish to rest with you here, Halbarad, most beautiful one. I wish to hold you, to kiss you, to share my love with you. Why can I not tell you that? And please, Halbarad, do not move from my side here, where I can feel your breath on my neck, and you hand touches me. Let all the Valar come against me, let all men say I am wrong, let them withhold the throne of Gondor from me, but I love you, my Halbarad. _'I'll try and rest again, Halbarad. We can ride to Bree in a matter of hours, and I don't think we need hurry. I am tired, and so are the horses.' 

The other man nodded, and walked over to the horses. He knew Aragorn's opinion on being watched while he slept, and he was unaware that Aragorn would have welcomed his company, his voice, even his touch more than anything. Sighing, Halbarad began to rub down his mare, remembering how he had led Aragorn and his charger away from Mordor not long ago. The other Ranger had seemed quiet since then, unwilling to talk but happy, even eager to sit and think in silence but Halbarad had loved his Captain as well, and understood.

Nearer to the fire, Aragorn lay and watched the tall, lithe shadowy shape move around. _Tonight, tonight in Bree, I shall tell him how I feel and let him say what he will. I cannot change my opinion, my heart, and my feelings and if I cannot love him, then I shall never love Arwen as much, for now I know what love is for the first time. _ He felt his eyes drift shut with exhaustion again and he had the energy left for one sentence that he whispered out loud. '_I love you, Halbarad. Now and forever.'_


	3. Bree

It was nearly midday when the two Rangers finally started off from their camp on the Brandywine riverbanks towards Bree, and Halbarad at least, was impatient to reach the village. Aragorn, after his nightmare had slept late, so that by the time he had tended his horse and eaten, the sun had risen high in the cloudless sky. 

'Are we going to take all day about this, Aragorn, or are we going to hurry up?'

Aragorn glanced across at the other man, seeing that in the heat of summer he had had discarded the typical dull cloak of the Rangers and was instead wearing a tight doublet. _By the Valar, Halbarad if you were leading me on you could not do a more effective job. _'We'll hurry if you insist Halbarad. Who am I to argue with you?'

Halbarad rolled his eyes in answer; clapping his heels to his mare's flanks and setting her off at a good gallop. He knew Aragorn delighted in feats of horsemanship, and indeed the Chieftain of the Dunedain during that mad racing gallop from grief and blood stained memories. The horses sensed the mood of their riders and stretched out into a flat gallop. For a while, the two rode upsides each other, steaming bodies of horse and man touching. _Halbarad, why when you do not flinch or even notice a contact like this, do I feel that you could not, would not accept my love? How can there be a difference in the contact? And how could you consider me a threat, for I love you, my Halbarad._

Both men smiled as they reined in a mile or so from Bree, Halbarad wiping the sweat from his face with one hand. Aragorn shivered despite the heat, a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold. _Tonight; it must be tonight. How much longer can I keep up this pretence? And if to be a good King I must resist temptation, then how can I be so? A weak King I shall be indeed, unable to keep the simplest pledge with my heart ruling my head. _

'Thee is still fun and light in life, is there not, Aragorn? Even after the darkness of battle; which we may have to get used to, there is still sunshine and above dark clouds of night, the stars shine forever.'

Aragorn raised a weak smile. _There is nothing save darkness and you of course. The one untouchable remote light in the darkness, my Halbarad. _They nudged their horses into a walk, men and beasts sweating from the exertion, reins loose on the horse's necks. Halbarad rode with an easy slouch, stirrups longer than Aragorn would have chosen so that he did not appear to be a soldier of Gondor. The pair reached Bree as the sun was dipping behind Bree Hill, throwing everything into rosy shadow. Aragorn noticed how Halbarad, as dark as his name, faded into the twilight, only the gleam of his eyes and teeth visible._ How beautiful he is…Why do men have such a problem with this? Elves do not mind who they love, man or other Elf or anyone else. As one who is of Elven blood, should I care? Why does my love for him shame me? Is it wrong; for I could not help it any more than I can help Sauron to create Orcs. _

As ever the Prancing Pony was unchanged - noisy and full, Hobbits and Breemen and Rangers all together. Aragorn could not eat the meal he brought despite his hunger; the ale made him gag and retch with its sharpness. Sighing he walked over to the wooden stalls, glad of the breeze that cooled his face. 

His horse, the dark bay warhorse that he had brought from Rohan flicked one ear in greeting, then returned to the hay. Halbarad's mare was asleep, one delicate hind leg resting and Aragorn felt guilty. He had ridden behind Halbarad for a few days, when he was too sick to ride; breathing in the scent of the one he loved and tiring the mare who had to carry Halbarad's bulk. _ This is the one place he will visit tonight; maybe then I can tell him. If not at least I can see him, talk to him._

Aragorn began to wisp the bay, glad of the almost total darkness. Half an hour, an hour, until the gentle tread of a Ranger could be heard. 'Halbarad?' 

'Aragon? Why are you out here?'

'I came to check on the horses.' _And to keep away from you. _'What about you?'

'I came to see Tiarri, only you to find that you have already done so.' _He sounds like he loves his mare more than he loves many people. Foal from his father's stallion she may be, but he was always possessive. So like Arwen in that…_

After a long silence, Halbarad spoke. His soft, gravelly voice cut through the darkness and touched Aragorn's soul. 'I've finished and you've wisped that bay twice. Are you coming back into the Prancing Pony or walking around Bree?'

'I think that I'll walk down towards the Greenway. It is too pleasant a night to spend sleeping.' _And too poor a night for others._

Halbarad nodded and walked with him. The two men were glad of the company, glad of the physical presence of the other for different reasons. The darkness was not intense now, for the moon had risen and rode high, bathing Bree in silver. As they walked down the Greenway, Aragorn turned to Halbarad._ Now._

'Halbarad… I - I…'

__


	4. Greenway

__

I know you won't believe these words from me,

But still, they're mine to say -

That I will always love you,

In my own crazy way.

~~~Rod Stewart, In My Own Crazy Way~~~

'_Vanimelda, _Halbarad. _Vanimelda.' _Aragorn kept his voice light, as though he was joking but no declaration of love since Beren's oath to reclaim a Silmaril in exchange for Thingol's daughter Luthien, or maybe Arwen's quiet forsaking of the immortal life for Estel, the man raised by Elves, had carried more conviction.

__

Manwe can hear all that passes on these shores of Middle Earth; did he hear those three words and if he did, did he accept or do the Valar still have the power to affect us here if we go against their wishes for the Secondborn? Can they take Gondor from me after the years of toil; can they reach me or Halbarad? What have I done? Oh, Elrond, forgive me.

Halbarad glanced across the Greenway at the older man; the Sickle of Doom shone down on his face and burnished his black hair golden although the rest of his face was cast in shadow that flickered as though fire cast. There was an air of amusement about him, amusement tempered by suspicion as unthinking as that of a wild beast.

'_Vanimelda, _Halbarad. _Vanimelda.' _ He echoed Aragorn's words; his accent that had been softened by days without count on the meandering borders of Rohan altering the words, making them less believable than Aragorn's Elven voice. The Rohirriam had no words, no phrases like that, their love reserved for their horses, for great chargers and faithful mares and stumbling foals rather than mortals. 

Aragorn nodded and taking several steps along the grassy path turned to the North and the Sea, glancing up at the moon. _Rana, wanderer like me, doomed to forever follow and seek for one that we love without rest or peace because the one that we love does not care. _Halbarad, looking after him could see only his outline, moving inky midnight in the dark. 

'You're beautiful, Halbarad. I love you.' He lapsed into the Common Speech. 'Since Mordor, maybe since when I first met you, months and months ago.' His voice trailed away as relief washed over him.

Halbarad turned abruptly, away from Aragorn so that neither could see the other. 'Arwen? Arwen Undomiel, Elrond Halfelven's daughter who turned to you so dearly? Are her voice and her face so soon forgotten - fifteen years in the Wild? Is that such an eternity for a man of Numenorian blood to survive on his own?'

Aragorn winced, both physically and mentally. _It is hard, Halbarad. Why can you not understand that, Dunedain whose birthright is the same as mine? I may be weak, too weak to rule Gondor or even the Rangers, but no man alive, even the Valar can resist love. And I love you, Halbarad. _

'She is not forgotten, Halbarad. I can never forget her, but she is Elrond's kin. It is not right for a man to love and keep one of Elven kind, especially Elrond's daughter, the dying flame of her race, as we are the last of the Dunedain. It is not right.'

'And by that, you mean that it is right for a man to love another, for a Ranger to gift his heart to another wanderer of the Wild, even when Arwen Evenstar is his?'

__

No, Halbarad, it is not right. Can you understand how that has hunted me for months, since first I saw you in the star shine, standing on the walls of Minas Tirith? 'Was it wrong for Turin to love his sister, Tear-Maiden as he did? No, because he did not know and he could not help himself, no more than can I.'

Despairing, his heart bleeding, Aragorn turned back towards Bree. It hurt more than any wound sustained in battle, than any fever suffered alone in the stretches of Rohan's studs, than any infection in filthy wounds healed on mountain slopes. Dimly, he heard Halbarad's soft footsteps following him, as calmly as the stepper seemed to be.

By_ all the Valar and by Gondor too, Halbarad, how can I convince you when even the sound of your voice holds me in thrall? Why have I said this, when I could have stayed with you? The longing would have been pain, agony, but pain paid for by seeing your face, by hearing your voice, watching you ride and sleep and change, in not seeing your face crease in bewilderment when I am here. You would always have been here._

In the Prancing Pony, Butterbur was watching out for them. It was the small hours of the morning now; all the other travellers were asleep or abed already - hobbits, another Ranger and such men as still wandered the wild. Unbeknown to the pair, Gandalf was there now, asleep at present but with an urgent errand awaiting him. 

'Evening, Masters. Is everything all right? I have a room prepared for you, looking North, as you normally prefer. I'm sorry it's only the one but tonight's busy and I cannot afford to turn people away, I'm afraid. I hope it will serve, Masters?'

Aragorn barked a laugh that had nothing to do with amusement and everything to do with pain and bitterness. _Last night, by the Brandywine, he woke me from a nightmare, lay close enough to hear my cries even in his own sleep. Yet tonight…he will not sleep tonight, I believe. I mean him no harm - I love him._

On the other side of the building, Gandalf stirred in his sleep; uneasy in a dream of three mounted men, Northland bladed swords clashing against tarnished Orc blades. The footsteps of the two Rangers and Butterbar's incessant chattering invaded his sleep but did not wake the wizard who slept the sleep of exhaustion, one step removed from death.

Later, when the hours of night had lengthened and the first dull light of dawn would soon touch the horizon, Halbarad glanced across the room. The fire that one of the hobbits servants had banked up during the night was burning low, the small room dim. Yet, as all Rangers have keen eyes, he could see Aragorn as a dark shape laying atop his blankets with his cloak over him. 

__

He is a strange man, neither entirely of Men nor Elves. He is not a warrior, lying awake when he could be resting, despite his skill with weapons. Heir to Gondor I can well believe because in him is something hat even Elrond believed vanished from this world in the Eldar days, long ago. How old he is I cannot say, a few years older than me in age and more than that in his mind. 

And he loves me, or so he claims. Doubtless Arwen heard those words also, under the stars in Rivendell before anyone saw this darkness approach and the world seemed fair and unspoilt. Do I love him? No, for great and admirable as he seems, it is only that; as a young soldier may admire a great captain or a boy his father do I respect him. 

As though hearing the unspoken thoughts, Aragorn rolled over on his bunk, pulling his cloak tighter around his neck shivering despite the warmth of the fire. His grey eyes were dry now but still stinging from the tears he had wept while Halbarad had shifted restlessly in his sleep. _How long has it been since I wept? At Melarod's death, and before that in Harad when the Easterling and I fought and he won, so I lay bleeding into the black sand in a country where the stars are strange. Before that…I cannot remember. _

Their eyes held each other so intently that Halbarad shivered at the intensity of that gaze as he noticed how Aragorn observed him. _He means me no harm; yet is he even aware of how he looks at me?_

With an effort to keep his voice level, Aragorn spoke softly. 'I still love you, Halbarad, despite what you are. Maybe I am wrong, but never will it change.' He plunged to his feet, a shadowy outline of a king distorted by shoulder length sweat lank hair, a muddy cloak and the expression on his face. The dying fire silhouetted him, a pale shade of Numenor standing in Middle Earth, in a kingdom too small for him. 

Halbarad stood as well, surefooted as a cat. _The look in his eyes - I have never seen him look like that before. Or has he, and I have not seen it because he has never worried me until this day? _

The older of the Rangers pulled one hand across his eyes, brushing dark hair back from a pale face and stepped forwards, towards Halbarad. Halbarad stood tensely like a fox at bay that was prepared to sell his life dearly. With an impulsive gesture, he rested one hand on Halbarad's shoulder.

Halbarad's answer was swift and sure, although not entirely unexpected. The blow caught Aragorn off balance, forcing him to step backwards to avoid falling. It was not a hard blow and Halbarad had not aimed to hurt the other man. 

Gandalf gazed up at the sky, assessing the rosy dawn light in the hope that it would be a fine day. The ground was stained red by the light, and the Maiar remembered battlegrounds that had taken on the hue. Slowly, he walked stiffly across to the stables and whistled to the bay horse that stood there. _That big stallion, and the grey mare - Aragorn's horse and Halbarad's also. How long have they been here, and where is Melarod?_ As the old wizard rode away, he forgot the Rangers.

In mute unbelieving silence, the Rangers faced each other across s room now flooded with sunlight, their hearts shining hopelessly from pain filled eyes. 

__


	5. Rivendell

Dedication - I would like to dedicate this chapter to Mel - a really wonderful best mate who's been very good to me recently and Jennifer, a rather excellent bete reader.

Aragorn barely raised his gaze as he rounded the last bend of the forest path towards Rivendell. His dark bay charger, Narothal, was sure-footed, as all battle-trained animals must be, and he himself was weary, weary as no Ranger well fed and horsed and without battle wounds, had a right to be. Beside him, Halbarad's grey mare pranced still, after nine days' hard ride with a Ranger's weight. Halbarad himself sat easily with head up and legs loose around the mare's sides. 

__

He is a better rider than me, better than me in so many ways. Perfect. Hating himself, Aragorn raised one hand to the fading mark on his face. Halbarad had not hit him hard, for a man who knew how to kill and had been taught the skill of causing pain so well by his captains, but maybe Aragorn's grief had not helped to heal the mark. 

'Aragorn, will you tell Lord Elrond how you came by that mark?' The voice reached down through the clouds of his misery, forcing him to come to terms with a nagging worry_. Elrond will notice for sure, and one so wise in healing will know that no Orc blow or horse hoof struck me. The story of Melarod's death he will want to know; the happenings of the Shire watch I can tell him, for what it is worth, and the fact that I am truly Captain now, maybe the last Captain of the Rangers, he will deduce. But this…_

'If he asks, then I shall.' 

'And would you tell him what happened to cause it?'

'Unless you wished it, no.' Aragorn dropped his hand from his face to his sword hilt in a gesture that could be taken as a salute. 'Halbarad, I could not bear to see you take his wrath. You do not deserve that.' _I have betrayed his trust enough already - and anyway, how could I ever find the words to tell Elrond of this? _

Gilraen's face hovered in his mind - 'I gave Hope to the Dunedain, I kept no hope for myself.' _Hope for the Dunedain means an heir and that means, if not Arwen, at least another woman. Not Halbarad, even though I love him more than any woman I have ever seen. _

Elrond was not expecting them, although the Last Homely House was often frequented by strangers, and Aragorn visited his childhood home more often than most. Glorfindel, gently exercising his roan mare in a diamond-shaped glade, saw them first. Narothal arched his neck and danced a few urgent steps, hooves stealing thunder from the earth. 

'Hail, Estel. Halbarad. Elrond is dining in the Halls of Fire at the moment, although I dare say there will be found some supper for those who are late.' 

Aragorn almost smiled as the blonde Elf dismounted and walked over with the mare following him. 'Glorfindel, I wish that Rangers were able to ride bareback so easily.' 

'You could. The problem with mankind is that they think with their heads rather than their hearts. Now, should I come to Rivendell with you, or are you able to find your way alone?' Aragorn did smile then - the first true smile that had crossed his face for a long time. 

'Even in the reckoning of Numenor, I am now a man full grown. I expect I shall see you later.' He nodded a farewell, and turned Narothal's head towards home. _Oh Glorfindel, you think that you know mortals so well…I am sorry…_ The voice of the Elf carried after them as they rode away - 'Estel, what happened to your face?' but Aragorn didn't look back. 

Tiarri nickered to Narothal as Halbarad set her into a trot, ignoring the twilight that was turning them into moon-dark shadows, and the grey mare and her rider passed out of even Aragorn's sight as they became one with the night. _He knows his way almost as well as I - if he wishes to be alone, then I shall wait. Halbarad, do you know how beautiful you are? Ever since you and I met, I have loved you, but now I know that you cannot accept that…you are even more to me now, you know. _

It was almost dark and Rivendell lit only by faintly shimmering stars when, with Narothal stabled alongside Tiarri and rubbing noses with her, Aragorn stumbled up the track to the Halls of Fire. He followed it unconsciously, the knowledge bred into his bones. Despite it being a summer's fragrant breeze that chuckled through the inky bulk of the pine woods, golden fires leapt merrily in stone grates, and the smell of cooked meat and fresh bread - so different from a Ranger's supplies in the Wild - was carried to him. He quickened his gait as much as he was able. 

Elrond looked up as his foster son entered the building, face pulled into a smile that touched Aragorn's heart in a way that even Halbarad's expression never had. _Father…It has been too long since the last time I saw you. For you, only a fleeting time, but for me…so much has happened. Do you even recognise me now? _Halbarad made some pretence of noticing his Chieftain, yet alongside the Elven Lord's simple greeting, it seemed remote. 

'Hello, Estel. Is everything well?' 

Aragorn felt the strength flow from his limbs. The nine days' ride from Bree, conducted at a good canter until the horses faltered, and then a fast trot, had demanded energy he had not had. A shiver ran through burning limbs; one worn hand came to cover the mark on his face and to hide his eyes. Concern flared in Elrond's ageless eyes. 

'Are you sick, Estel? Is that why Halbarad rode on ahead?' He shot a piercing gaze at the other Ranger. 

'No. I am tried. Too tired.' He lapsed back into silence, gaze torn between Halbarad, whose shoulder-length dark hair had fallen over his face, obscuring his eyes as he ate hungrily, and the familiar, safe surroundings of the small room. 

__

Even here, in Elvenhome, Halbarad, you are perfect. If it means losing Gondor for you - yes - I believe I would let it fall. Even Middle-earth itself. Oh, Valar help me! May the grace of the Valar protect me…

Later, when Aragorn was bordering on exhausted sleep, yet trying to resist the dreams he knew would come; Elrond walked into his room. If it were not for the flickering candle the Elf carried, Aragorn would have thought him a shadow. Silently, he sat down on the bed and looked across at his foster son.

Dark, inscrutable eyes bored into the Man's skull, more painful than his headache, and Aragorn shifted uncomfortably. 'So, Estel, what is wrong? Why did Halbarad arrive here almost an hour before you?' 

'Melarod died…Mordor…' His voice cracked. 'There were Orcs - hundreds. He died in my arms. Halbarad killed his horse.' One hand reached up to the mark just below his eye. 'Halbarad…Nightmares…' 

'Estel.' Strong Elven arms encircled Aragorn as though he were still a child, and the Ranger allowed his head to be pulled down against Elrond's shoulder. _If it were Halbarad, I would have longed for this moment. Oh, Father…would you hold me like this if you knew? _A time longer than the ages of Arda passed then, as Elrond held his foster son in a tight embrace. 

Eventually, Aragorn whispered in a hoarse voice. 'I'm Chieftain now, Father. And Halbarad…' 

After a time, Elrond felt he had to speak. 'What about Halbarad, Estel?' 

'I - I love him._' I've told him. I've managed it. _

Aragorn felt sleep steal over him again, despite the knowledge of the dreams that he would have - dreams of Halbarad and Arwen, of Gondor falling, of never knowing love and dying alone. Dreams of deaths caused by his actions and dreams, always dreams of Halbarad.

Elrond smiled and stood up, pulling a blanket up over Aragorn. 'So do I, Estel, because he brought you back. Sleep well, little one.' 

On silent feet, he stole out of the room and across the hall to look in on Halbarad. 'Is he going to be all right?'

The Ranger's voice was strange, Elrond noticed, not his normal calm tone, and the accent of the Rohirrim seemed stronger. 

'I believe so. He seemed reluctant to talk though. Did something happen apart from Melarod?'

'No. That was horror enough for anyone. Orcs themselves are bad, but in their homeland…Some of the sights have stayed even with me, let alone him.' 

'What marked his face? That bruise is too recent to have been an Orc blow - unless you met some elsewhere.'

Halbarad lowered his head. 'We argued, in Bree. I struck him.' 

'Why?' Elrond's tone could have made ice flinch away. 

'He said he loved me. I did not mean to hit him so hard - we were both tired, and he had been sick after Mordor. I believe one of the blades that caught him was tainted.' 

'Did he say anything beyond that?' Elrond's voice was so quiet, so low, that Halbarad stepped back until the roughness of the wall stopped him. 

'I gave him no chance to, Lord Elrond.'

'In that case, I hold you guilty for the blow. I can understand your reaction, but I cannot forgive the fact that you raised your hand to him. Only if you can forgive him, then maybe I shall forgive you. He will not speak like that again.' 

Halbarad nodded, his face beginning to regain some colour. 'He has been so dear to me for so long.' _Lord Elrond has taken this better than I thought he would. I was not responsible for his son's words, though. _

Elrond nodded to the Ranger and walked back into Aragorn's room. _Those two should be glad that Arwen is in Lorien and not here. _Anger at both Men rose in him, yet a subtle movement stopped it. 

Aragorn rolled over on his back, stretching one hand out to someone Elrond could not see. The Elf read the name on his lips rather than heard it, and suddenly, pity replaced the anger and confusion. Elrond was used to pity - he had felt it for his parents, for the dying Gil-galad, for Elendil, for - he stopped himself from listing all his dead. 

He placed his hand on Aragorn's head, smoothing the dark hair down. 'Estel, Estel…' Tears pricked his eyes. Elrond remembered only too well the agony of loving someone who could neither love you back nor do as you yearned for them to do. 

Aragorn walked down Rath Dinen with Halbarad. 

A breeze caught their hair, blowing it behind them and mingling the strands. 

They were together. 

And they were dead. 


End file.
